Artful Dodging
by edmalldayandnight
Summary: Etta is new to the frightening streets of London, but when the Artful Dodger takes pity on her she's swept up into his exciting world of danger, criminality and...love? Dodge x OC. Rated T for too many innuendos .


**A/N: Yay new story! Not sure if anyone actually reads Charles Dickens fanfictions but I got inspired! Sorry for the painfully short first chapter - I've written Chapter 2 already and it's almost twice as long so stick around for that. Hope you enjoy, it would be nice if you could f/f or review! :D**

London was a busy – albeit dirty – city in the mid-19th century, and the streets were alive with commotion, even though it was early – only half past eight in the morning. It was November, and frost graced the various market stalls already being prepared for the long day ahead by their owners. The cluttered street was within walking distance of some of London's poshest houses, and so, passing the end of the road, gentlemen and ladies would tut in disgust and hurry on by, on their way to a nearby grand park where they could be snobbish in peace. However occasionally a person of higher class would mingle with what was affectionately called the scum of London in order to purchase something – usually flowers or fresh-baked bread for their female companions.

It was these men – foreigners to the hustle and bustle of lower-class life – that the Artful Dodger watched the closest. Dressed smartly in a brown waistcoat and dirty white shirt (and his trusty stovepipe hat, crooked on his head), the sixteen-year-old noted where they replaced their purses, where they pulled pocket-watches from, which pockets they patted warily if a commoner passed too close. They were sleepy, too – easy bait.

The gentleman was his fourth catch of the day and he'd just nabbed a wallet thick with coins when he saw her. Sitting shadowed in a doorway, legs splayed out just far enough to be a mild inconvenience to anyone passing by, the girl wore a blue dress that – although tattered – was clearly far too upper-class for her surroundings. She watched the scene ruefully from under her eyelashes, pretty face marred with London grime. Clearly she had not been on the streets for very long.

Quickly scanning the street (no one of interest was in sight), Dodge casually made his way across the cobblestoned road, coming to a halt beside her doorway, leaning against the wall and tipping back his head. After a second he shot a glance downwards to see if she had noticed him – just as he had thought, those nervous eyes (brown) were directed at him. He breathed in, biting his lip, before murmuring, just so loudly only she could hear him, "What you doing here, then?"

She looked up in alarm, raking Dodge over with her eyes. "I don't have any money."

"Well, I can see that, love." Pushing himself from the wall, he turned to face her. "I mean – you look posh. Sound posh too."

He saw the hint of a blush appear from behind the dirt on her face. "Yeah, well."

"How long you been on the streets?"

She exhaled. "I – I think about four days."

"Why aren't you in one of them big houses, then?"

"Call it an unfortunate turn of events." Her face, which had previously been directed down at the ground, turned to look at him. He waited for her to elaborate. "It's quite a long story."

In response, Dodge lowered himself into the doorway beside her, trying to ignore her flinch. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly shakier.

"So, I used to be rich. My father – if you could call him that – was one of London' best entrepreneurs. Edward Chamberlain? Have you heard of him?"

"Ah. Yeah. Mostly bad stuff."

"Yeah, he wasn't a very nice person. Not that I ever saw him, of course. So, my father owned a lot of property, a lot of business, and the like. And then, to cut to the chase, it turned out he'd been doing some very complicated and very illegal stuff in order to keep the money rolling in. His own business partner reported him. He was hanged, and I found myself very poor and very alone."

"What about your mother?"

"Died during childbirth. So before she goes back to Oxford, our maid – Elizabeth – told me that soon enough I'd be dumped into a workhouse, unless I got out quickly. And so, I did."

"Get dumped in a workhouse?"

"Get out quickly. And here I am."

There was a pause. Dodge contemplated what to say.

"That's unlucky. What's your name?"

"Henrietta. Etta. Chamberlain." She looked down again.

"Well, Miss Chamberlain, how do you feel about finding somewhere to stay?"

There was a long pause in which the girl – Etta – appeared to be thinking, and Dodge wondered what on earth made him say that. His lower regions, probably.

"I'm not – I'm not _selling - _"

"That's not how I meant it!" Dodge retorted quickly. "There's – there's a place, where me and a load of other boys live. We get by. I mean – if you ain't got anywhere else to go…"

"This isn't a…a trick, is it?" Etta asked.

"Why would it be?"

"Because I just saw you take that man's wallet."

Dodge paused, running his tongue around his mouth in thought. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Look, girl-"

"Etta!"

"Look, Etta. I'm offering you salvation on a bleedin' string here. How many street kids get offered a nice place to stay, a good way of earning money…"

"Earning money? You never said anything about that!"

"What I just did there. The wallet. Now shut up and-"

"_Stealing?_" Etta looked mortified.

The Artful Dodger inhaled deeply. "Listen up, sweetheart, this life ain't no walk in the park. You ain't gonna get a better chance of making something of your life than this, and if you're opposed to stealing, then you're most likely gonna starve. Now I'm telling you, come with me before some other bloke comes along and _makes_ you go with him."

"_Go with him?_ What do you mean by that?"

Dodge bit his lip, infuriation rising. Then, suddenly, an idea. Cursing himself with every single move, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the gentleman's wallet, and popped it open. They both examined the insides for a second – the purse was full of money, enough to last a street rat for a good few weeks. Enough to make Fagin happy.

"See this? Pretty good, right?"

Etta nodded, glancing up at him, and then back at the wallet.

"Here." In one movement Dodge pushed the leather into Etta's hand. "If I really intended to hurt you, I wouldn't have given you that, would I? Call it – insurance. And if, when we get back to my place, you decide to stay, you just give it right back and we have ourselves a deal."

There was a long pause, and then, fluidly, Etta pulled herself to her feet. As Dodge mirrored her movements, he saw her turn to meet his eyes and smile. Heart pounding with excitement, he returned the grin.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked, still smiling, eyelashes fluttering so prettily.

"J – Jack. Jack Dawkins," Dodge replied, and then pulled himself up to his full height. "But you can call me the Artful Dodger."

"The Artful Dodger," she repeated, and then leaned into him to whisper, "It has a nice ring to it."

And that was when she ran.


End file.
